DEAD LINE
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: SEQUEL TO LOVE LINE! – Mello acknowledges the continuance of Matt's love. -ONESHOT


**Title:** _D.E.A.D. L.I.N.E._

**Summary:** - SEQUEL TO LOVE LINE! – Mello acknowledges the continuance of Matt's love. – inspired by my own musings after reading the encouraging reviews.

**Disclaimer**: Plot is mine; characters aren't. –Wha? Don't believe me? Look at my bank account! I'm too poor to have anything to do with the production of Death Note!

**Author's Note:** Oi, hello there! Just wanted to thank all the lovely chickies out there that led me to write this up! For some reason, all my reviewers for LOVE LINE ended up crying at the end; and a few of them said that it would be interesting for Matt to stick around for Mello. And, of course, I wanted to give it a shot! So, enjoy!

**WARNING: **No proofreading on my behalf! If you notice too many mistakes, let me know and I'll try to fix 'em.

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**Matt's POV**

Time stood still for me. Clocks, calendars, and things of the like – none of that concerned me. I didn't know what day of the week, nor what month it was. I gauged the time of day based on Mello's sleep-schedule. But _time_, in general, did not apply to me. As far as I knew, I was eternal.

I'd made peace with my inability to speak, finding passivity with leaving voicemails, texts, and random messages for Mello to find.

It was nice that he accepted my _existence_. He seemed to smile more than I ever remembered; he opened up to me, completely, telling me things I never thought I'd hear from him. All his confessions and secrets had been given to me, and I eagerly sponged it up, slipping my own transparent arms around him and smiling as he began to shiver.

He never complained that I gave him goosebumps. He never grabbed a blanket or whined and bitched about how the air around me was chilled. He just… _accepted_ it all… with a smile, as if my existence in his life were more precious than the sun itself. (And a small part of me wanted to _believe_ that to be true.)

Mello had taken the time to make the warehouse _deceased-friendly_, as I like to call it. Every light fixture was blessed with a dimmer-switch, allowing me to manipulate the lighting to my liking. Scrabble pieces were strewn across the coffee table, a gest of communication. The temperature was always warm… because it made my icy presence more noticeable. He also took to hooking up all my gaming consoles and I would play at leisure.

He and I spent a lot of time together, but he was still a mafia ringleader. He still came and went frequently. Thankfully, he kept me updated on everything he did at almost every minute of the day.

Thank God for _TWITTER_! I read his every _Tweet_ like an obsessed stalker.

And, it's not like I was a greedy and useless companion. My fingers were as skilled as ever, and I could still hack.

It was pretty fuckin' hilarious the first time Mells called a meeting with his fellow mafia affiliates. I had the time of my _life_! (Erm, I suppose that's _not_ the politically correct way to phrase it, but who cares? Unlike in the movie _Beetlejuice_, Death doesn't come with a _Handbook for the Recently Deceased_. I'm still learning about things I can and can't do.) But that time was full of great tomfoolery! I flicked the lights on and off, rattled the pipes and hanging fixtures, moved objects from place to place, and other simple things of the like.

Until you've seen true horror on the faces of men that are supposed to be impervious to fear, then you haven't _lived_! (Damn, I still don't know how to properly state things in such a manner. But it seems strange to call myself _dead_.)

Not the point.

Mello and I still work together, and to my knowledge, we're closer than ever before.

We play games; he talks and I listen; I leave him messages all over the place, via scrabble squares or words on foggy bathroom mirrors. And when he tires for the night, I lay alongside him in bed, draping my nearly nonexistent arms over him. I love it when the nights are long and heated… because I can feel the radiation of his warmth, and he truly enjoys the chill that leaks from my transparency.

And, not to sound cliché or anything, but… death has given me a greater purpose… However, it has also given me a silent grief. Though I am eternal, I know that Mello is not. I know his mortality. And it is driven into my thoughts every time I notice the slight graying of his hair and the lines around his eyes. Because, though I'd never tell him, the signs of age are beginning to set in, reminding me just how many years have passed. But, of course, I have no real conception of time.

And, sadly, there are times like now… when I am holding Mello tight, listening to him breathe, and my thoughts drift to myself. And I wonder what I'd look like if I were still alive. Would I have aged as gracefully as the blonde subjugate before me? Probably not.

Still, I tried to imagine myself with greys peppering my red hair; I tried to imagine the laugh lines that would have started to tug at my eyes and mouth; I tried to imagine how it might feel to hug Mello for real.

One thing I regret about being dead is… I can't feel anything physical. Emotions, yes, but nothing somatic. I missed being able to feel the handhelds or controllers cradled between my hands. I missed feeling the slight tingle against my fingertips when I'd typed for too many hours. I missed feeling the fabric of clothes; the material of the couch; the hardness of the floor beneath my feet. Simple things that I took for granted. And don't even get me started on how much I missed food, and cigarettes, and gum, and the ability to taste.

It was so strange. I could register temperature, but I could not touch and feel. I could gauge smells, but only if I'd smelled them before, meaning that there was no room open for new things in my after-life existence. And I couldn't eat, which I kinda suspected, but with the absence of food comes my inability to taste. And of course, I had incredible eyes and ears. No lighting was too dim or too bright. No sound was too faint or too harsh. In fact, everything was very mellow.

Well, not everything was mello, I guess. Mello was never mellow.

I push these thoughts aside, along with any other impending negativities, and I thank God for the second chance to save Mello. Because that's what this is. I have been left on this earth to fulfill this purpose. And I intend to do that 'till the day Mello no longer needs me.

**Mello's POV**

My alarm clock _buzz-buzzed_, which served only to annoy my tired ass. I vaguely wondered why I even had the damn thing since I didn't really need it; I was my own boss, after all. I squinted my eyes shut and reached blindly for the contraption, my hand slapping the novelty-sized snooze-button. Once silence washed over me, I could relax again. A comfortable haze settled over my mind.

And, much to my dismay, I was slowly pulled from my state of perpetual unconsciousness; my body registered a now-familiar chill. I shivered at the coolness but didn't bother to fight off the smile that fell over my face.

I was cold. _Really cold_, now that I thought about it. Not a single blanket covered me, but that was my own choice; it was early in the Spring and the temperatures last night had skyrocketed.

Still, I pressed my palms to the bed and propelled myself up, giving a wistful glance at the seemingly empty space next to me.

Empty? _Yeeeea_-no. I know better. I felt those icy twig-like arms around me, and even though I couldn't _see_ him, I knew a redhead was there, feigning sleep… because he didn't _really_ sleep. _Angels_ don't _need_ such humanly conventions. The thought made me smile.

"Morning, Matty," I said with a yawn, dropping my clothes off my body and strutting nakedly to the bathroom for a quick shower. I didn't bother shutting any doors along the way; I simply made a beeline and cranked on the hot water tab. As I did my ritualistic cleansing, I took my time, allowing the steam from the hot water to fog up the entire bathroom. And, in this fog, I can almost make out the outline of Matt as he moves into the shower with me. The water goes right through him, but there is a faint gap between the water and his negative space. I open my mouth to question his presence, but something entirely different tears from my lips. A scream. "Aaaah, fuck! Matt, you asshat! Why'd you t-turn the hot water off?" I screeched in annoyance and adjusted the taps to my liking.

Peace settled over me again until I heard a strangely familiar sound. Still, I ignored it in favor of ridding myself of soap. It wasn't until the water was rising to my ankles that I realized that Matt had put the stopper in the drain.

"Maaaatt," I whined, kicking my foot back to free the stopper and drain the water. Finally, I turned off the taps and got out of the shower. Then, of course, I realized that my towel was gone. "You're lucky you're already dead, Matt, or I'd strangle you so fuckin' hard!" I yell this, and I inwardly flinch at the words as they leave my mouth, but he doesn't seem to mind, taking it all as some sort of joke.

My eyes train themselves on the mirror as invisible fingers dance alone the surface, drawing out words for me to read.

"_Hey, Mells, you're lookin' a little wet. Your towel, as well as your clothes, are all hidden somewhere in the warehouse. Happy hunting!"_

I wanted to be angry, and I wanted to yell, but I couldn't. This was Matt. And he was playing a game with me. And somehow, this made me happy. I approached the mirror and scribbled my own message. It was only two letters long.

"_F… U…"_

And it was with a mildly cynical laugh that I raced out of the bathroom, soaked and stark naked, trying to play the 'Find It' game.

Yeah, Matt and I, we had fun. We always did. He was my best friend, alive or dead. He was always there for me. He was a saint. He was an angel. He was my everything, even if I never told him.

And, a small, selfish part of me wants to believe that I meant just as much to him, but, similarly, he's never openly said that to me either.

Ironic.

But welcomed. Sometimes, it's the things that are never said that are the easiest to hear. And I think we heard each other loud and clear.

**Normal POV (years later)**

The casket was lowered into the snow-enclosed chasm. Only a handful of faceless mourners were present, their faces veiled in black and decorated with squinted eyes lined with liquid emotion and drawn little mouths.

A blonde stood, hovering over the burial plot. His eyes were wide with confusion as he tried to piece together coherent thoughts.

_Stop crying. Look at me. _

His insides were screaming, but he soon realized that no one could see him. He felt cold, but he had the strangest feeling that it wasn't the wintery snow that made him cold. His chest pounded, but he couldn't quite feel his heart beating. Worry began to swallow him, and he found panic racing through every fiber of his being.

Then, suddenly, the grave beneath him was covered in dirt by suited men with shovels. And, as he took note of this, he read the large cement slab at the head of it.

_**M**__y one and only  
__**A**__lways there  
__**T**__rying for comfort  
__**T**__rying to care_

The blonde read it over and over, trying to make sense of things. He stared long and hard at it, and the first letters of each line seemed to jump at him.

_Matt._

It was a name. And it was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He opened his mouth to say the name aloud, hoping to form some recollection, but no sound escaped.

White noise. Static.

He felt frightened, at first, but those horrid thoughts and feelings left him the moment he turned and saw a neighboring gravestone.

_**M**__ore than life itself  
__**E**__ver changing  
__**L**__oving  
__**L**__ost and looking  
__**O**__n the way home_

"_This is your grave_," a voice said. The owner of that voice hovered over the Matt grave, wearing a small smile. "_And that one is mine,"_ he gestured towards the Mello grave. "_Do you remember me?"_

_Matt?_

No words escaped, but the blonde tried so hard to make his voice work.

"_It's okay, Mello. It's me. Matt. And I can finally take you home."_

_Home?_

"_Up there."_ His arm shot up and his fingers drew skyward, as if he were speaking of the heavens themselves. _"I couldn't go without you, so I stayed behind. Now that you're here, there's nothing to hold me back."_

_Where are you going? Can I come? I'm scared. Don't leave me alone. Matt, please._

"_You're coming with me, Mello."_ That smile was comforting. That arm dropped from the air and rested at his side. He glided effortlessly, approaching the blonde called Mello. The two stared at each other for a prolonged period of time. _"I know you're scared, but trust me… This… is just the beginning."_

Familiarly cold arms encircled his frame and Mello looked skywards. The sun was so bright. The clouds were evaporating slowly, and the sudden sensation of completeness washed over him. Yes, he could do this. Even if his memories were scarce and his fear was current, the presence of the redhead made everything okay.

"_Come with me, Mello, and we'll go somewhere special. Just the two of us. I promise."_

And with that, a warm and comforting light enveloped them.

**END**

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**/There it is! The sequel to LOVE LINE! And, just to clear something up! No, they are not lovers. They love each other, but it is a family sort of love in this ficcy. Also, you probably noticed that Mello's casket was lowered into the grave where Matt's name was spelled out; this was not an error on my part. The idea I had was… that… for sentimental reasons, Mello and Matt's graves would portray the other's name. Got it? I thought it would be sweet. And yes, contrary to popular belief, Mello and Matt are going to heaven together. Now, review please!/**


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